Robyn of Lantern Hill
by Emily-in-the-glass
Summary: Jane's younger sister Robbie is beautiful, wilful, and spoiled. What will become of her during the years of WW2? NEW CHAPTER UP dates of last chapters altered to August 1939.
1. Family Trees

Cast of Characters

Lantern Hill

**Andrew Stuart m. Robyn Kennedy**  
1. Jane Victoria Stuart  
2. Robyn Rose Noelle Stuart

Jimmy John's  
1.

Snowbeams

Titus Ladies  
1. Jody

Glen St. Mary

**Kenneth Ford m. Rilla Blythe**  
1. Gilbert Ford  
2. Walter Cuthbert Ford  
3. Solomon Ford  
4. Robert Grant Ford (Bobby)  
5. Alice Rose Ford (twin)  
6. Leslie Anne Ford (twin)

Blair Water

**Teddy Kent m. Emily Byrd Starr**  
1. Ilse Juliet Kent  
2. Starr Kent

**Perry Miller m. Ilse Burnley**  
1. Emily Beatrice Miller  
2. Burnley Miller

_**NOTE: updates as story progresses**_


	2. Chapter I, The End of An Era: 1

_FIRST, first!  
That was thy song that burst  
Out of the spring of thy heart,  
Incarnate spring that thou art!_

_- "The First Bluebird", Ethelwyn Wetherald _

1

"I do _love_ taking care of baby Rosie - she is such a darling sweet little girl." Aunt Irene reassured mother and dad as she ushered them out the door.

Before Robbie's pretty features creased into a black scowl at Aunt Irene's unexpected appearance, Jane bent down to smooth her hair and whispered earnestly, "You'll have a wonderful day on your own, little sister o' Noel. If any of the victims show up, remember that the pantry's just brimming with hop-and-go-fetch-its."

Robyn Rose Noelle had meant to have a lovely day on her own. When they realized that Robbie couldn't come to the funeral because there was chicken pox in Blair Water, Robbie was secretly elated. She was eight years old and had never been alone for a moment in her life. Was she finally old enough to keep house on her own, even for a day? Fortunately Jane made up her mind that she could, and convinced mother and dad expertly.

"We can leave her some cold tongue and chicken, and I'll show you how to make salad, Robbie. That's easy as a wink, isn't it mother? The vegetable man has good lettuce on Saturdays."

"But all by herself... "

"I'll tell Mrs. Jimmy John to keep a lookout for her, if she hears anything extraordinary at Lantern Hill. She has to go to Ladies' Aid in the morning but she can drop by after lunch to check on Robbie, before she does her washing." Listening to Jane, one had the impression that she had planned the ordeal weeks ahead, but she was really just improvising as she spoke.

" Nor will she be lonesome. Those Snowbeam boys are too smitten to stay away." Jane's pretty friend, Jody, teased.

Robbie blushed. "It's not my fault they come, trust me!" she protested.

Perhaps it was, though. With her bright curls and rosebud smile, even at half-past eight, Robbie had slayed countless hearts. She only had to toss careless glances across the church pews, and on Sunday evening boys from the Corners would pile tributes of candy and billet-doux from their hymn books at the Lantern Hill gate. Amongst their own bevy of friends, the three youngest Snowbeam boys and the George twin followed her around like devoted dogs.

Dad and Jane were proud of her popularity, although Mother worried a little about her unusual beauty. Aunt Irene never left the subject alone.

"They do say, sometimes, that pretty girls turn out to be ugly women." she told mother anxiously.

"Mother was a _very_ beautiful baby - I've seen snapshots." Jane retorted.

"Nothing goes with blonde hair. Pink clashes, and blue is out of fashion." Aunt Irene fretted. Aunt Irene's hair was entirely gray, and Robbie couldn't imagine what shades could ever have gone with it even when it was sugar brown.

Now that Jane had gone, Aunt Irene had complete liberty to admonish Robbie to put on a ridiculous, lacy little sunbonnet. "Your complexion is so fair, Rosie sweetie. You don't want it to freckle in the sun."

"I'm running out for a swim, my face is going to be alright." Robbie protested.

"How shocking! That sounds just like the way Jane Victoria would talk back." Aunt Irene was reproachful and hurt. "How will my poor Drew bear it if you turned as brown as your sister? She's twenty-one and nowhere near getting married off. Stay inside with Aunt Irene, my beautiful baby Rosie."


	3. Chapter I: 2

2 

Robbie paid Aunt Irene no heed. She already knew there was nothing to do inside - not when Aunt Irene was around anyways. After Aunt Irene had cleaned the house and rearranged Jane's pantry, stowing the hop-and-go-fetch-its on the top shelf where Robbie couldn't reach, she installed herself beside the kitchen phone. For an hour she gossipped long distance, and Robbie, drying herself in the sunshiny hollyhock garden, could hear her outspoken comments.

"Starr.. yes that's the one... unbelievable how half the Island's turning out for her burial.

"Never read... oh yes, that was in 19-- , it sold out in five printings didn't it? They made that moving picture five years ago when Vivien Leigh played... whatshername... right, Peg Applegath."

Robbie stopped short in her tracks. _Peg Applegath! _ Aunt Irene couldn't be talking about the heroine of _The Moral of the Rose._ Robbie wondered why she hadn't paid more attention to her parents and Jane discuss the funeral. There were funerals enough over Lantern Hill and Robbie could never see before how it was worth the bother to go all the way to Blair Water for one. Now she wanted more than anything to go.

Could she? That was the question. Someone had always been there to tell Robbie how to do things and to take her wherever she wanted to go. For Mother it was sweet to accompany her when walking to school or church or to the neighbours', Dad drove them on trips round Canada in a rattling new Ford, and Jane took care of everything else so quickly you never noticed she took care of it at all. Robbie, who had never thought twice about Jane's efficiency, suddenly felt rebellious. She had no idea how to get to the E. B. Starr's funeral at all. She couldn't quite even begin to explain why she needed to go so badly.

"I'm not _Cissy Applegath_! " Robbie told the long, pink hollyhock that drooped its head towards her. "Old _Abe Applegath_ always did everything for her. She only had to bat her golden eyelashes. _Peg_ on the other hand - she never let anyone interfere with her ideas." Robbie laughed as she recalled the headlong scrapes Peg was prone to, because she was so impulsive.

Like a cook counting eggs in her pantry, Robbie took stock of the situation. There was Aunt Irene who was bound to fuss if she stepped within a ten foot radius of the good lady. Mrs. Jimmy John was due by that afternoon, but Aunt Irene would send her away with a flea in her ear if Aunt Irene found their neighbours meddlesome. Some of the victims might show up, and if they did, they were a nuisance to get rid of.

She drew herself up the banister, pausing to take note of the grandfather's clock at the landing. Half-past eleven. Trains left the Corners for Charlottetown and Shrewsbury everyday at noon, but to miss dinner would arouse Aunt Irene's immediate alarm. Besides, Shrewsbury was still seven miles from Blair Water.

Robbie pulled her favourite striped dress with white scallops over her little sunsuit. It did not occur to Robbie that she might ruin the pretty dress. Her reflection in the mirror was so entrancing, that she pirouetted round and round in front of it, stealing coy smiles at herself, until she decided that she really must go. She donned her white sandals, and made a quick trip through the kitchen to take some of Jane's fresh bread, cold ham, and plum jam. She was careful to make a mess so that Aunt Irene would _notice_ she had taken a lunch. Then she walked loudly by Aunt Irene's window, down the path to the shore.

It was a charming path, downhill and cross-lots, to a little rock cove sweet with bracken and spice ferns. Just before the cove, a winding footpath ran off to the right and led to Queen's Shore. It was midday, the fishermen's colony was bustling: boats were coming in to collect lunchpails from children who ran to and fro on missions of delivery. They did not fail to notice how out of place she was.

"Yo' uppity lady, lookin' for herring too early?" some of the older boys shouted at her. Robbie smiled bedazzlingly at them, and went on.

She single out a plump, bashful urchin, and smied very sweetly at him. He stopped, she held out her hand.

"I'll take that for you. You can go play." she suggested.

The little fisherboy dropped the pail, and looked furtively as if he wanted to run away.

"You must tell me who they're for." Robbie laid a detaining hand on him.

The boy pointed to a small, ramshackle rig. "And where do they go, to fish?" she was already stooping to clutch the bucket handle. It was futile to wait for a response from the dumbstruck child.

"Where do you go?" she called to the burly fisherman as she stood on the wharf, swinging the lunch pail.

"What's it to you?" he whined grouchily. "Gimme my pail."

"I'd like to come with you." Robbie looked her sweetest.

The laconic fisherman blinked open his eyes, now fully aroused. He peered at this demanding slip of a girl.

"You're not from the Cove." he said in surprise.

"No, I'm not. I'd like to get to Blair Water." Robbie put forth.

The boat swayed gently as the fisherman considered.

"Can you swim?" he asked anxiously.

Robbie pirouetted into the waters like a mermaid, lapping softly to the rim of the boat..

"Hela my lass - I s'ppose." Old Amos Tombstone said, helplessly. "I fish off the headlands of Stovepipe Town."


	4. Chapter I: 3

3 

From Stovepipe Town it was only three miles into Blair Water, so much Robbie knew from the clippings in Jody's scrapbook of _The Moral of the Rose_. Robbie had never been to the this part of the north shore, but she knew that _New Moon_ was an old, white house shielded from the stark sea by a grove of austere birches, with a fragrant orchard mediating between. She had imagined the Applegath farm so often, her sunburnt skin tinged with excitement at the thought that she would see its original - today!

She bid good-bye to good Amos, dipped into the shallow waters, and swam into Blair Water beach. Robbie did not think about the impropriety of being wet. The midday sun was blazing and she tripped along, enjoying the cool moisture on her hair and face.

A green Ford rattled past her, sending up a cloud of dust. Some of the boys hooted. Robbie waved gaily back at them. A pretty, red-headed woman turned her face in annoyance at her sons, and then her gaze fell on Rosie. Her husband jolted the car to a stop.

"Why dearie, what are you doing on this road, alone?" She asked, anxiously. The boys - five tall, bronzed lads continued to hoot. A demure, flaxen haired girl sat in their midst.

"Going to E. B. St -- I mean, Mrs... Mrs. _Kent_'s funeral." The more decorous name of the novelist surfaced to Robbie's head. Even at eight she knew that Islanders thought novelists were kittle-cattle. It was safest not to mention them to strangers.

"So are we," the red-headed woman exclaimed cheerfully. "Hop in and we'll take you there!" Two of the tallest, red-headed lads chimed in, as if they were inviting Robbie to a picnic. Robbie opened the door gallantly.

"You'll have to sit on my lap." The tallest boy told her.

"No, you're sitting on mine - I invited her in _first_." The other tall boy argued.

"Naw she's just a kid - give her over to Bobby." the third boy suggested, giving his youngest brother a malicious shove.

"My name's Robbie, too." Robbie offered, enjoying the coquetry she was causing.

"I think Ali'll come on my lap." the last boy said rather timidly. The flaxen haired girl shifted obligingly to sit on her brother, making room in the back seat.

Robbie wedged herself between the two tallest boys.

"You're sitting on a Ford." One of them told her with a twinkle in his eye.

"Dad has a Ford too," Robbie retorted. She wasn't sure if he was being patronizing.

"_On_ one, not in one, get it?" the third brother couldn't help giggling.

"Are you going to throw me out on the roof of the car, now?" Robbie asked, puzzled.

"We ARE the Fords." The third boy was still giggling and hiccuping.

"I'm Gil," said the oldest one. He had auburn hair, bronzed skin, dark blue eyes, and his eyes and mouth were very defined.

"Bertie," his brother replied. His hair was red-gold, his skin milky, and his eyes hazel. He resembled his youthful mother.

"Wally - he's Wally." Gil whispered to Robbie.

"I'm _Bertie_." Bertie clarified.

"_Wally, Wally, Wally_. _Willy Wally Washy Woo!_" Gil hissed.

"Don't you dare." Bert's eyes flashed.

"His full name's Walter Cuthbert," Bobby explained shyly. "So Wally and Bertie are both his nicknames, but he hates Wally and makes us all call him Bertie."

"He'll thrash you if you don't, eh, _Wal_-" the third brother jeered.

"That's right, Solomon." Bertie gripped his brother's arm. Solomon wriggled - he was skinny and freckled, with dainty girlish features, and his name was as incongruous as a crown on a scarecrow.

"Oww!" the tiny girl shouted as the wrestling boys jostled her off Bobby's knee. Ali was maybe a year or two older than Robbie, but she seemed much younger. She was shy, even shyer than Bobby. She shrank as Robbie's bold stare took stock of her, but then Robbie caught Ali peeking at her curiously a few minutes later.

"We're going to this funeral cause Dad's a Toronto writer." Gil informed her.

"So's my Dad!" Robbie cried. She caught Ali stealing a glance at her, again, and pretended to give her undivided attention fully to Gil and Bertie. "What does your _Dad_ write?" she asked challengingly.

"I'm an editor for the _Globe_." The man in the front rumbled. He had such a melodious voice.

"Oh. My dad writes books. He used to write articles, but since he published ..." Robbie's gave the slightest triumphant inflection to the word 'books.'

"Our grand-dad's written a lot of books." Bertie rejoined.

"He's coming today, too, isn't he, Dad?" Solomon chirped.

"I bet you've never read our grandfather's books." Bertie mused. "Although you may've heard of them, certainly..."

"Are they anything like E. B. Starr's?" Robbie demanded. Again, she felt Ali's stare when she pronounced the name 'E. B. Starr' with excitement.

"They're better'n girls books." Solomon sneered.

"I really like Peg Applegath." Bobby offered.

"I wish Dad's books were more like the Applegaths. I would read them if they were." Robbie confessed. "Jane - that's my sister - she's read bits of them to me, but they're frightfully dull. Jody - that's Jane's best friend - thinks Dad is a hero though. I bet she's read your granddad's books. Jody's a genius. She's doing English and French literature at Redmond on the Avery Scholarship." Robbie boasted.

Bobby saw how her eyes shone with pride and loyalty. He thought of sharing something, but Bertie said it first:

"Our grandmother won that! But she turned it down - I forgot why." he ended lamely.

"We're _here_." Ali said suddenly, her voice and face transfigured by something between excitement and reverence.

A white house with a wide porch stood on a headland which ran into the white capped gulf. A dark spruce grove divided the sea from an old-fashioned maritime garden. Peonies and lilacs made a riot of colour. Robbie could see the vine-clad summer house where _Cissy Applegath_ lost her diamond, and that must be 'The Tree of Life', a great big spruce in the garden's center with a low stone bench in its shadow, where _Nick Applegath_ kissed his sweetheart. There was a rambling wild orchard beyond, a silver-grey shingled house on a steep hill, a yellow house to the left, and from somewhere in the midst of the grove, the heavy scent of tansy and a glimpse of the blue Blair Water.

Mr. Ford pulled over to the shoulder. Cars were parked far down the lane and onto the main road. It suddenly struck Robbie how large the crowd was. How foolish it was of her to come all the way, when she would likely never get a glimpse of Mrs. Kent!


	5. Chapter I: 4

4 

Gil and Bertie hulked by the fence, evidently embarrassed to be caught amongst literary fanatics. Robbie determined to venture through the throngs and explore New Moon Farm. Bobby and Ali came with her. Solomon looked at both parties - on the one hand longing to be like his tall older brothers, on the other secretly curious about the author of _The Moral of the Rose_ - and swithered. Five minutes later he caught up with Robbie and company. "_i'm_ here to look after you kiddoes." he announced.

Robbie ignored him and moved swiftly under the shade of the tall poplars. People mingled: local old-fashioned ladies in crepe black mourning, polite mothers clutching wide-eyed daughters who were doubtless E. B. Starr's fans, and the enormous Murray clan, stiff and proud. Robbie could pick out the type. Where was Dad, and mother, and Jane? Robbie wondered as they advanced towards the flower-wreathed parlour.

In the dim halls of New Moon were ladies weeping onto white lace hankerchiefs. A bright-haired woman sat amongst them, on the edge of a horsehair antimacassar. Robbie liked her immensely upon first gaze: she looked beautiful, forward, and unconventional. She did not wear conventional mourning, although she had an enormous black silk and lace scarf. She bore no tears in her eyes. There was something finer than tears in her face. But the tow-headed matron beside her did not recognize this, for she fawned on her:

"Oh, Ilse, I don't know how you could. You who always pretended to be her best friend!"

"I never _pretend_." the bright-haired woman replied with a freezing sneer.

A dreamy, dark haired girl of Jane's age clung very fervently to a comical looking boy in the shadows of the ferns. Ali whispered that that was Mrs. Kent's own daughter.

Someone gave Robbie a long look- an elderly, silver-haired lady, who promptly disappeared out a side door with a shuffle of skirts.

In a minute Robbie was at the casket. Solomon shrieked and edged away, but the three other children bent over bravely to take a long look. There she was - the woman with the high forehead, milk-white skin and dusky hair. Her face wore an expression of eternal calm. Her milk-white throat encased in foamy lace that ran all over her blue dress. She made them think of old, long beloved pot-pourri, although that may have been the scent of a myriad flowers that embalmed the New Moon parlour.

Some other scent came amid the flowery perfume - something familiiar, warm, wholesome.

"Jane!" Robbie cried delightedly.

Jane's eyes were snapping. She pulled her outdoors and let out a storm. "Aunt Irene rang - do you know how embarrassed I was - how worried Mother and Dad were? Mother is upstairs in the spare-room, feeling faint because you had gone missing. Aunt Irene is - well - you know what she can be like when she's in a panic. I told Dad you really couldn't have gone far - but - oh, Robbie, how could you do this to us?"

Suddenly Robbie realized she was no seasoned adventurer. She was only a very badly behaved child. Robbie turned around, but Bobby and Ali seemed to have vanished. They had left her all alone to face Jane's tirade. What little wimps! Robbie despised Ali.

"What would I have done if Salome Silversides hadn't seen you and told us? She's gone to tend poor Mother, now."

Robbie hesitated on how to appease Jane.

"She was with _us_ - you shouldn't have worried in the least." A voice proclaimed triumphantly.

It was Gil! Ali had gone and brought him - she wasn't such a bad sport after all. Robbie looked at him gladly. He was in turn gazing gladly at her sister. Her fiery anger and bronzed cheeks made him smile.

"Who are you?" Jane demanded.

Gilbert Ford introduced himself and Robbie's misadventures. He lengthened his story with high-falutin descriptions so that Jane would continue to listen to him attentively. Finally Jane cut him short: "I'm very grateful to you, and your mother. Now let me tell my parents so they can stop worrying, and we'll come along to thank you properly."

She began to step away, then suddenly, in a copse of ferns, she stooped and enveloped Robbie in a bear hug. "Oh, I'm so glad you're safe, and you're here, Robbie."

Gil, still espying her, suddenly tightened his grip on Ali's hand.

Later on the Stuarts found the Fords at the summer-house in the garden. They were joined by two elderly couples - Ali's grandparents, Owen and Leslie Ford, and their friends the Irvings. They were alike in that the two elderly men had creased faces and literary brows, and their wives had gold hair threaded with silver

The Stuarts became fast friends with the Fords. When they tired of talking about Toronto publishing, they inevitably gossiped about Blair Water. Mrs. Kent had two daughters, the youngest just Jane's age, poor thing. Her fiancé - Judge Miller's son - would take care of her, though. Dad remembered that his cousin Rhoda went to school in Blair Water. He thought he had seen her around - although he had heard Rhoda avow she never liked Emily. Mr. Kent seemed morose - but so did Mr. Murray of New Moon, who they say had been in love with Mrs. Kent himself - he was her cousin.

Robbie and the Fords played for awhile in Lofty John's bush. Then Ali tired, and went to sit by Mrs. Irving with the dreamy eyes. They sat together and whispered fancies, which Robbie did not hear or care about. She was too busy challenging Bobby and Solomon to climb The Monarch of the Forest.

The funeral services were conducted in the evening, and the small Blair Water church was filled. They seemed very long to Robbie, who did not understand or would ever remember most of the service.

Night was falling fast as they drove away from New Moon and its "haunt of ancient peace." Robbie snuggled on Jane's lap and fell asleep, insensible to the wonders of the night and the cosmic forces of the universe.


	6. Chapter II, At Dusk: 1

Chapter II

1

Robbie was having a birthday party at Lantern Hill.

"But your birthday's in December, kiddo," Dad puzzled.

"It isn't fair that I always have a Toronto birthday. I want a one at Lantern Hill, too." Robbie explained. Of course Jane and Mother consented - Mother loved parties and Jane loved to prepare for them. It was really a good-bye party for their last day on the Island, but Jane was as excited as Robbie over the chiffon birthday cake she had read about in Chatelaine and meant to concoct.

Mother went to town with Dad, where she bought a lacey delphinium-blue dress for Robbie to wear on her "birthday." She picked out a dull turquoise organdie for Jane, a simple translucent slip that hung loosely over a silky fitted dress. She bought for both girls shiny, silver shoes.

The Titus ladies sent over sheafs of flowers with Jody, and the best friends had a full day arranging bouquets of late roses, lilacs, and asters. Jane's Lantern hill garden was reaped fully, too.

Jane had been clipping receipts and pouring over recipes for all of August, as such was her delight. On the menu were adorable english muffins and berry tarts, five different kinds of pudding, a newfangled flavour of egg-nog, and that infamous birthday cake of which it was rumoured that Jane would use three dozen eggs.

Robbie had sole reign over the invitation list. Of course all of Lantern Corners was invited, her boyfriends and Jody's gang, but she added the Fords to the list. Robbie's secret reason for throwing the party was that, she desperately wanted to see the Fords again. No: she desperately wanted Jane to see the Fords again. She had seen how keenly Gil Ford looked at her sister that day.

"I'm so sick of Aunt Irene complaining that Jane hasn't got any 'beaus'." she told the George twin scornfully.

"She'll never talk like that about you." one of the Snowbeams put in with a sticky kiss, and then ran nimbly from his brothers before they could thrash him.

"I think Robbie ackzually has a 'crush' on Bobby Ford." 'Baby' Jimmy-John pointed out. The George-twin stared, reddenning.

"Solomon Ford's more like it." The Ella-twin threw in scornfully, standing up for her twin.

Robbie began to wrinkle her nose in disgust, but vetoed it on second thought of how unbecoming she would look. "Mr. Ford interviewed the King and Queen when they were in Ottawa." she announced importantly.

"I wish we could see them!" The Ella-twin sighed.

"Dad said he'd heard in Chidley Corners that they brought ... warships to Halifax." George whispered excitedly.

On that cue, the Snowbeam boys got up and began to play soldiers. began to play mock-war. Ella shrieked as they charged beside her, and 'Baby' Jimmy-John jumped up so that they couldn't hide behind her. Only Robbie smiled lazily at them, as if she were daring them to frighten her. But it was Mary Millicent Snowbeam, sitting apart in the fir copse, who startled them all.

Mary Millicent Snowbeam was said to be "not all there." She was dazzlingly beautiful and even Robbie admitted that she would trade Mary Millicent her features. Robbie had always liked her, maybe because she was so ethereal that despite her undisputed beauty, she could never outshine Robbie. None of the boys really liked to hang around her, although they liked to look at her.

Mary Millicent stepped into the midst of the game. Suddenly, she dropped onto her knees and held out her arms in surrender. The sunset fell athwart on her beautiful red-gold hair, and her brown eyes shone with some distant light.

The boys, who initially thought a new victim had joined the game, were ready to pounce on her and seize her. But something about her made them stop in their tracks. She began to speak to the wind.

"War is coming.

"Real war is nothing like a child's game. Although really it is even sillier than a child's game. We will be cruel to one another, not just you and I but the whole human race. Our darkest and most terrible moments await us."

All the children huddled together instinctively. Robbie prayed under her breath that Jane would happen along. Or even good gentle Jody, or jolly Shingle, or any other the grown-ups.

The sunset flame died, and the June dusk was suddenly chilly. Mary Millicent ceased to look distant and heroic. She turned to them, and smiled simply.

"But never forget, even in your darkest and most terrible hours, that the world belongs to God.


	7. Chapter II: 2

2

At dusk, Jane walked cross-lots to Lantern Corners. Jane knew how to drive and since Dad had bought a new car, the old Grey Slosson was always at Jane's disposal. But there was nothing Jane liked better than a walk in the twilight. With her long, slender limbs, she moved as sleekly as a cat among the thrushes and shadows. Her gold-brown eyes gleamed with alertness and pleasure at all that she saw. The stars twinkled above her like old friends, and the maples were whispering companionably. She lay off her cares and put on the night like a garment. She rejoiced to be a part of the world.

"I'm going to do your hair, tomorrow." Robbie had announced to Jane at supper. Jane had inclined her brown face indifferently. This was where the sisters differed. Even at her age Robbie was a slave to female vanity. Jane never saw the necessity in taking effort to make oneself beautiful. Pretenses of glamour bored Jane.

"I put some of Mother's pink laquer on my nails. See?" Robbie waved her fingertips joyfully that morning. Robbie had amassed a small collection of Mother's leftover cosmetics and beauty tools - the ends of powder boxes and lipstick stubs. And for her last birthday, Grandmother Kennedy had sent her a silver plated hair comb. Jane had frowned at it but let her keep it. Robbie loved to see the beautiful, shining brush against the lustre of her hair, every morning in the mirror. The little trinkets in Robbie's dresser drawer were her most precious possessions.

Jane forgot that Robbie and Mother would make a pet of her tomorrow as she slid into the long table in Min's kitchen. Young John and Ding-Dong and Punch were already holding levee there, and they were joined by a score of the Corners' menfolk. Uncle Tombstone presided over the end of the table, occasionally taking breaks from his pipe to add to the conversation. The Titus ladies would not "approve" of Jody traipsing about o' evenings, and Min was running an errand at a neighbours', but Jane did not mind the dearth of females.

Jane was at home in male company, for a very different reason than Robbie. Robbie liked the sense of uniqueness she felt amongst them, as if she was prettier, even more charming, fragrant, in their midst. Jane never felt that she was different from any of the boys or men she knew. Jane decidedly liked the scent of tobacco and unkempt shirts. She even liked the blunt remarks of menkind, for all the tactlessly there was flavour and honesty about them.

"The Soviet's in." Ding-Dong Bell greeted Jane with dour astonishment. Jane nodded - she had been one of the few to predict that Hitler would find an ally in nearby Russia. But there was no victorious glow on Jane's face for having guessed correctly - she knew what the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact meant.

"Poland hasn't capitulated." "Punch" Jimmy-John said for the third time that evening, in the tone of a drowning man clinging to a last floating spar.

"Yet."

"She won't." Jane flamed passionately. "Not with Britain to back her up. Britain and France are backing up Romania and Greece, too - "

"So those Russians had better watch their antics or we'll grind them to pulp." Young John said scornfully.

"No," Jane did not like to be interrupted, nor did she like Young John's tone, "war is very near. The Germans are in Slovakia now and they will take the Danzig port any day, won't they?"

"I wish HItler would invade and have done with it. What a sissy." Young John whined.

The room buzzed with talk of the Britain's war preparations, and predictions on when Canada would enter. Uncle Tombstone's voice bellowed above them.

"You think it's all fun and games, don't you?" he yelled at Young John. "Go - go- spend a year - or two - or four in Europe, and you'll see what's to boast in it."

"Canada hasn't anything of an army." Ding-Dong said soberly. "Since our parents had returned from the Great War, the Canadian militia has been neglected. There are hardly 4,000 men in it. They'll have to conscript."

"Conscript? I'll volunteer before anyone makes me. Dad said no one ever had to make him go to the front and I'll do him proud." Young John was unquenched.

"It isn't just that our armed forces are small. Our military equipment is scarce. The government hasn't invested in it at all - of course, we are not a warring nation. Our navy has only a handful of ships, and our tanks are very rustic, I'm afraid."

Jane sighed. What was the use of talking about this grave situation? She left for the porch. There was only a thin, yellow streak of light left on the horizon. Her passion for politics earlier that evening was suddenly replaced by dull _ennui_.


	8. Chapter II: 3

3

The light faded, replaced by the artificial blink of a car that was rusty by day, and screeched embarassingly. A tall figure got out, and even the darkness could not hide the bright flame of his hair. A smile played on his lips when he recognized the girl on the porch, and Jane smiled back involuntarily.

"How nice to see you, Gilbert Ford!" she cried impulsively.

"Do they always keep such lovely ladies on the porch at Lantern Corners?" Gil asked playfully.

"What brings you here?" Jane asked directly.

"To see that which graces the porches of Queen's Shore." Gil responded.

Jane's laugh was rosy and jovial. "You're embarrassing me with your flattery." she pointed out plainly.

"Look here, won't you come for a drive then?" Gil Ford winked.

"Not unless you tell me what brought you to Lantern Corners."

"To take you out for a drive."

Jane yielded.

"How's the political seance in there? Any heated brawls yet?"

Jane shook her brown head dully. "Oh, the thought of war is simply awful. I will be beside myself with worry if any of my - of _you _- boys go." Jane flushed. "As if it wasn't enough that Dad went through it twenty years ago!"

"Don't think about it, then." Gil said gently.

Jane suddenly felt ashamed of herself for baring her emotions so plainly. She ransacked her brains for a way to lighten the mood.

"What is it all but a struggle of ants,

In the gleam of a million million suns?"

Gil quoted lightly.

Gil had an easy, careless manner which irked and intrigued Jane. He drove fast - they whirred through the night, the night winds, the night woods, in the parts of the world that Jane loved best. Jane dared not let herself imagine what might happen to hills and valleys as lovely as these in the ravages of war. Gil talked of many things and Jane laughed often, both their youthful eyes and hair snapping in the wind.

Jane was tired to the bone from her work, her worries over the world, and feverishly alert with the afterglow of her hour of dissipation when she went to her little spool bed. But only five minutes after she had undressed, a dainty figure charged in.

"Robbie! What are you doing up at this hour?" Jane demanded.

"How was it?" Robbie winked archly. In a moment Jane guessed that Robbie had put Gil up to it - rang Four Winds and gotten one of the Ford brothers to tell Gil Ford she needed a lift home from Lantern Corners, no doubt. She felt like a pricked balloon.

"Stimulating, like all my evenings at Min's." she chose to interpret Robbie's question naively. "I had a debate with Ding-Dong and with Young John. Ding-Dong is turning out to be far more intelligent than I ever gave him credit for." Jane mused.

Robbie paused, and Jane half-expected her to pursue the point. But then she asked, plaintively,

"You were talking about the war, weren't you?"

"What war?" Jane asked.

Robbie told Jane what had happened that afternoon in a frightened voice. For once Jane could not find the words to comfort her. None of her thoughts were reassuring. Jane rocked her sister back and forth in a long hug.

"War is coming, isn't it Jane? War is coming, there's nothing _you_ can do to stop it." Robbie half-sobbed, half-pleaded.


	9. Chapter II: 4

4.

Robbie's birthday party was remembered as the most gallant affair in all of Queen's Shore. Lantern Corners had never seen the like and would not again in the dark years to come. There were little rubber balloons from Toronto, so pink and light, drifting all over the yard. The Stuarts were the only family to have a gramophone, and music from the movies played with such pomp and blare that it could be heard at West Trent, five miles away. Then there was the much anticipated birthday cake - a springy chiffon layered with roseberries, blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, pistachios and hazelnut - all enfolded in cream whipped so lightly that you thought you were eating the stuff that dreams are made of. It was lit with nine silver candles, little slender torches that Robbie blew out all in one gust with eyes buttoned shut to make her birthday wish. The most amazing thing, Mrs. Jimmy John whispered to Step-a-Yard, was that candles, cake flour, berries and nut had all cost Jane Stuart less than two dollars.

It was a garden party in the afternoon but the revelry continued late into the night. Robbie, bliss of bliss, was allowed to stay up and watch, probably because everyone was too busy to put her to bed. Dad had one arm on Mother's white shoulders, and the other gesticulating passionately in a debate with Mr. Ford - probably about politics. Boys and girls Jane's age were lingering in pairs by the southernwood, swaying to Judy Garland on the gramophone. Robbie saw to her satisfaction that Gil Ford was pacing in the moonlight with Jane. How beautiful Jane looked with her chestnut hair in a sleek knot behind her ears, and her elbows slipping out modestly from her turqoise gown! She could not see Gil's face but she noted how he stooped and inclined his profile towards Jane. Then she noticed Solomon trailing them. Robbie gritted her teeth in disgust. She marched off to the parlour and rifted through mother's records, searching for an album that would send the couples dancing.

_My prayer is to linger with you__  
At the end of the day__  
In a dream that's divine..._

_My prayer is a rapture in blue  
With the world far away  
And our lips close to mine._

A warm glow filled Robbie's face and she caught Ali up merrily. The pale girl seemed tired, but she submitted to being whirled around madly in circles. She even let out a peal of laughter - a golden, musical trill - when they crashed into a tree. Bobby ran over in astonishment.

"Is everything alright?" he asked his sister. He eyed Robbie warily, and for the first time Robbie found herself scrutinized in a way she did not like.

"I didn't mean any harm, I only wanted someone to dance with," she protested.

Ali shook her head and smiled wanly at her brother. "We were having a lot of fun. Let's dance again," she held out her hands eagerly to Robbie.

The girls found a shadowy corner and Robbie began to teach Ali the steps of the _Jitterbug_ she had learned from the movies. "Aunt Irene doesn't think it's a nice dance," she whispered confidingly. "But that's why I'm determined to learn it."

"Where is your Aunt Irene tonight?" Ali wondered. She had been subjected to the full tirade of Robbie's grievances.

"Oh-oh. She went to Summerside, for a friend's wedding. Her friend Lillian Morrow is marrying an American. She met him while he was staying at the hotel, and they are moving to Honolulu. You should have seen Jane when we heard the news. I'm _happy_ because I don't think I could enjoy myself with Aunt Irene around, but Jane was _singing_ all day."

"I wish you didn't hate your Aunt so," Ali protested timidly. "I can't imagine not loving my own family." she added with a shudder.

"Why - Jane had a friend here last week who said the same thing! She was from North Glen and she drove over to bring Jane a recipe for strawberry cream pies. They are absolutely divine - she brought one with her. She also brought a jelly-roll, but I think jelly-rolls are frightfully old fashioned."

"I think old-fashioned things are best. Like my grandmother's plum-puffs. I hope she'll teach me how to make them when I'm older, my grandmother's recipe came from her own - Aunt, I think - who my mother is named."

Robbie shrugged indifferently. The authenticity of recipes was Jane's manna, not hers. She sat back on the grass and flexed her silver slippers.

"It really takes too long to grow up."

Ali shook her head wistfully. "I'd rather stay a child forever. I'd go back in time - but I shouldn't talk like this."

Ali was quiet for a very long time. Robbie absorbed herself in drinking in the evening. The stars were large and glittering in the sky, despite the faint red tint which forebode rain. The chinese lanterns bobbed in the breeze, throwing long shadows on the grass. Here and there a girl's pale gown gleamed like a flower in the darkness. The scent of tea roses was velvety and musky - muskier by night than by day. The music drifted sweetly and endlessly, and the crowd did not seem to tire. It was nearly midnight. "Cinderella's hour," Robbie murmured dreamily to Ali, recalling the fairytale where all loveliness vanished when the clock struck. But the hour passed, and the new day was yet as mirthful as yesterday.

Robbie and Ali had nearly fallen asleep to Glenn Miller replaying for the tenth time, when Dad bellowed to Uncle Tombstone "Now how 'bout some Annie Laurie? What's an island party wi' no Scotch fiddle?" And Mother put off the gramophone and Uncle Tombstone - who was still around, and awake - took up his violin obligingly, and to crown all Gil lead Jane out on a gay waltz in the centre of the crowd. "Maybe I do wish Aunt Irene was here to see _this_," Robbie gloated. Bobby shot her a cheerful smile in reply, but Ali's head was drooping on her shoulder. Soon after the children dozed off, with dreams borne of the riotous, magical music of Uncle Tombstone's purring bow.


End file.
